


Sillage

by FloodFeSTeR, FuckinPoind3xter



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bitterness, Curiosity, Dalish Elves, Elven Sentinels, Elvhen, Elvhen Language, Elvhen Lore, Eventual Romance, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Guilt, Healing, Healing Sex, Heartache, Heartbreak, Innocence, Loss of Faith, Loss of Identity, Loss of Limbs, Loss of Virginity, Lost Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Mages, Mages and Templars, Mentor/Protégé, Mild S&M, Nature Magic, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Outdoor Sex, Past Lavellan/Solas, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Resolved Sexual Tension, Self Confidence Issues, Sexual Tension, Sharing Body Heat, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Solas Spoilers, Vaginal Fingering, Violence, but yes, not really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 08:58:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7970755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FloodFeSTeR/pseuds/FloodFeSTeR, https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuckinPoind3xter/pseuds/FuckinPoind3xter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>: the scent that lingers in the air, the trail left in water, the impression made in space after someone or something has been and gone; the trace of someone's perfume. Origin- French</p><p>Bijou has receded to the Temple of Mythal, seeking to fill the craving of knowledge -- among other things -- the vir'abelasan has left inside of her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sillage

**Author's Note:**

> I know the summary isn't the best, and this chapter ends rather abruptly, but I am looking to edit both so lets just go with it okay?

Its feather-lite.

If he were anything _but_ what he was, he would have never noticed.

But sitting in what could be best described as a common room, idly reading ancient tomes tattered at the spine and some with freckles of water-stains, it was easy to make out such things even, perhaps, without his keen senses. He showed no indication that he hears, continued to read through the ancient pages without a care.

Okay, perhaps a _little_ care.

Abelas peered up from beneath the brim of his hood as he heard the soft pat of feet just behind him, fingertips brushing over stone as the being caught their balance. He could feel the magic encircling the ancient robes they wore, the curves of violet shoulder pauldrons' and glittering chain mail. He could almost make out their form before he even saw them, he would have to chastise them on their wards but for the moment he was busy grabbing their wrist and swinging them down onto their back.

She gasped as she connected with the floor, a blush on pale cheeks as she ended up between his legs, right leg cocked but the other thigh brushed against her hair. He arched a careful brow at her as he released her arm to gently close the book he had been tending to. Her face gradually moved from shocked and wide-eyed to pouting and her gaze adverted from his face. 

"I thought for sure I had you that time," she let her hand fall at her side when he released it.

"You are quiet, but your wards are flimsy, we must see to them if you truly desire to have the proper training," he plucked up the book and stood in one fluid movement, glancing down at her. "A shame we do not have any remaining advisors, they were far better suited to training than I."

Bijou's pout grew deeper and she twisted, pushing off of the floor to catch up with his long strides back towards the archives. She leaned forward with an almost expectant gaze up at his hooded face, smiling softly at two sentinels that passed them. There were not many awake at the moment, perhaps ten, twelve at the most and she was now counted among them. She was a mage, the only trained one at least, as far as she could tell would be a better way to go. They knew basics and even things like ice mines but the more powerful spells -- even she could still do those with one arm.

She was supposed to learn how to charge the pillars protecting the temple on the bridge, if Abelas would quit putting her off.

"When can we go outside," she questioned.

Abelas gave her a quick glance and then looked forward again, his steps smooth as two other Knights pulled the heavy doors open. She sighed softly beneath her breath at what she was now familiar with as him brushing her question off. She had been in the Temple of Mythal for many weeks now, learning things she never dreamed possible, and Abelas told her the ease came from drinking of the vir'abelasan. It had opened her eyes unknowingly at first, she had just believed she had grown with her powers, had gained confidence from defeating Corypheus, had regained some sense of control since. . .

Since she lost her arm, and the Mark along with it.

The moment it was gone, she had to admit her eyes had opened so brightly. She had become invested in reclaiming culture, in trying to excavate ruins, try to restore them. She had soldiers to spare and she had decided the Inquisition had conquered enough, it was time to work on knowledge and not politics or war. The Mark had been clouding her judgement, had made her angry, thirsty for vengeance, thirsty for Corypheus' defeat. She could only think of how to conquer what she wanted, what she needed, to further her ploy.

Now, she just wanted to know, about anything.

She waited patiently beside him as he replaced the book, watching him be sure there were no blemishes he could think of. Bijou grunted and gently rubbed at the wrapped stump of where her arm had been, feeling the lingering pain thrumming at her nerve ends.

Abelas looked down at her, staring blankly as she stared down at it with that occasional hopelessness and sorrow; he could feel it.

She jumped when she felt the palm of his hand brush over her opposite shoulder. "Does it ache," he questioned, bowing his head slightly towards her.

If he saw the heat rising to her cheeks and the tips of her ears, he said nothing. "Y-Yes," she mumbled and looked down at it.

He hummed softly beneath his breath and his arms dropped to his sides. He raised his chin and strode past her, of course her own form followed dutifully. She felt the consistently cool brush of marble beneath her feet, save for her heels that the leggings covered. This temple held so much magic in it, so much energy she could feel coursing through the walls as though it were blood through her very veins. Abelas, again, tied the feelings she confessed to the well and its influence over her since bathing in it, but she felt differently.

He had lead her to the healer in the back of the temple, where two cots were already taken by a Knight and a familiar face that had her sputtering to a stop. Abelas stopped immediately and peered over his shoulder to her, fists clenched at his sides. She blinked several times, afraid and tearful, until her eyes adjusted and she found the man lying there was just another one of the Knights. She shook her head softly, looking up at Abelas with relied in her eyes; she was mildly surprised at the concern, but only mildly.

Since she had decided to return to the temple, to keep the knowledge she had gained a secret, and to feed that knowledge, she had learned quite a bit about the elf named sorrow and his subtleties. He wasn't a hardass, he was hardly rude now that she understood, and he was an excellent teacher. He didn't treat her like a woman that had lost an arm, but neither did he take it too far, catching those whines of pain when they sparred. He was so much faster than she was, and far more mature that's for sure, even if that was another feature not so surprising.

Bijou may have had a crush on him.

She says crush, because she isn't sure. Since she drank of the well, she had felt the connection to each and every warrior that had protected it, went through cycles to do so and even gave their own knowledge to the well. Their memories, their thoughts, their feelings -- they had all been implanted deep inside of her own memories and thoughts. They influenced her care of these people, which had first started as mutual respect, to almost a mother-hen complex that they gave her odd looks for. She didn't fuss too much, but she knew sometimes the way she fret over them when something so simple and easy happened was a tad confusing. They weren't cruel to her, thankfully, they seemed more cautious than anything. They had only had each other for so long, lost so many, so she wasn't confused at all by that fact.

And Abelas. . .she felt a tad stronger towards him than she did with the others. She cared, of course, and she wanted the last of them to make it through her life time, but. . .most days, when there was fighting, and Abelas went out to assist, Bijou wanted nothing more than to lock him up until the fighting was over.

She sat where he gestured, a cot cut off from the rest of the room by an oddly protruding wall. She waited patiently and silently while he collected several small vials, pouring them into a small bowl with one hand and the other dipped into the bowl, kneading the contents into a tingling salve. Bijou reached up and began to unwind the bandages, watching them pool by her hip until she could see the scarred stump. Where the Mark had been ebbing upwards through her arm in violent streaks, it left blackened scars in the same pattern. They ached and throbbed in the weather,  whenever she brushed it against the wall the wrong way by accident.

She looked down slightly at his face as Abelas crouched down in front of her, taking the stump gently between his hands as he worked the salve into her skin. The pleasant tingle started, growing in warmth and comfort as he worked very patiently at her feet; she sighed and he looked up briefly, she smiled timidly.

"I could have gotten a healer," she murmured, tucking back her hair. "Its not your job to do this."

"You act as though it is a problem," he shook his head. "And you are my responsibility, and the healers are busy enough. I can handle you, this is nothing."

_This is nothing._

Jeez. . .

"I. . .Thank you," she murmured, still staring down at him. "The missing arm is hard to maneuver with on my own, and now you have to dance around me. . ."

"You are my duty," he shook his head. "I swore to protect this temple, the _vir'abelasan_ , and it is inside of you. You are now its vessel, and I would protect you as fiercely as I did it. This is the care you require, it is the care you shall receive."

Bijou pursed her lips softly and leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes and trying to relax but it felt odd for this ancient, stoic elf to be tending to her in a. . .decidedly intimate way.

He had. . .really big, long hands.

" _Oh_ ," she chirped and sat up abruptly, almost seemingly startling the Knight; impossible. "S-Sorry," she apologized.

He just stared and then went back to work, grabbing the bowl and slicking his fingers again. Bijou wrinkled her nose at the smell, finding it unpleasant but Abelas only shook his head when she complained. It stunk of turnips, reminding her of a certain spirit that took it upon himself to fix that whole raw smell they had going.

She missed Skyhold, sometimes.

"What are you thinking of which causes you so much stress," Abelas questioned when he was finished, setting down the now empty bowl on the table.

Bijou didn't answer right away. "Skyhold," she looked up as he approached her again, bandages in hand. "I miss the people of my Inner Circle, we were very close."

"They are not allowed to enter the temple," Abelas reminded her, tying off the bandages. "I will escort you down to the barracks."

Bijou immediately jumped, grabbing onto his wrist; the look he gave her was best describe as annoyed. "I can't," she shook her head and let him go. "I'm sorry I just. . ." She shook her head. "It reminds me too much of Citadelle Du Corbeau , my team and I were stuck in their for days with the undead and demons -- please, don't make me go back down there."

She let him go, looking ashamed that she had just done that but she couldn't go back down to the barracks. No, she wasn't alone, but the room was so vast and many of the braziers were too damaged to light, no access to veilfire either. It was dark and cold and lacked the comfort of other beating hearts nearby. She couldn't do it, not after her time getting lost in that fort, turning a corner and ridding the corpses there only to turn around and find another Arcane Horror in her way, with more dead pressing on their backs. She half expected a corpse to start shambling out of the dark corners, or even a Hurlock after her time on the Storm Coast.

"I am to lead a patrol to the twisted tree tonight," Abelas sighed. "I can give you my former quarters, though I must say they have not been used in many years."

Bijou perked up, relieved that she didn't have to spend another night down there. "Oh thank you," she chirped. "I can clean with one arm still, I swear it'll just be tonight, I would not want to intrude."

"You already have," he stated plainly, no hint of mirth in his eyes like she was used to when Dorian had picked on her. "But you need your rest, we must work on your wards first thing tomorrow. They are sloppy."

"Yes ser," she bowed slightly.


End file.
